93

Where are you, Abbas?

Is there some essence of flesh that is fleshless,

Some bone that is boneless, a breath

Beneath breathing, a center that has no periphery?

Is there some substance without Newton’s mass?

Is there a world of nonmatter

Within the material world?

Water and air could not spill from its

Emptiness. Sunlight could never reflect

From its surfaces, space without objects

And space without space.

Still, it might redeem—

Lightless and soundless yet

Full of a thing that cannot be named.

Is that where you are?

So fragile would be this invisible world,

Like a ghost without whiteness,

But strong, like the spinnings of spiders,

A gossamer kingdom without towers or walls,

Indestructible,

Large as a cosmos and small as a seed.

Is this the small whisper I hear in my night?

Invisible spurt of invisible blood?

How can I touch it?

I want it to know my small hands.